


Baseball

by RussianWitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Object Insertion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 16:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Some things shouldn't be used as sex toys and yet they are.19/8/18 removed doubling in story





	Baseball

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd

"Shit, you're hot like this, babe!" Stiles moans. He rakes his blunt nails along Derek's back, humping the back of Derek's thigh.

If it weren't for the underwear that keeps his mouth full and shut, Derek would be growling at him to _get on with it already_!

They should  _not_  have decided to do it at the loft, in Derek's bed that's made to stand up to werewolf strength.

He ignores the little voice in his head that suggests that maybe they shouldn't be doing it at all.

Stiles' hand connects with his ass, once, twice...

"You should totally take some Wolfsbane next time. I bet there is a super-secret strain out there werewolves have used to have kinky sex for ages already!" He muses spanking Derek's ass; solid full strength blows a human would have had to build up to.

Derek takes the blows with barely a grunt, smothering all stray sounds that might escape in the nearest pillow.

Stiles doesn't need any more proof of how much Derek wants this. And he definitely doesn't need to know which type of Wolfsbane to look for on eBay.

"Now raise that tight little butt of yours, grumpy, and let's do this!" He crows, and Derek digs his claws into the wood of the headboard.

His asshole is already relaxed, slick and open.

Stiles has been driving him crazy for ages.

Teasing Derek's asshole and sucking on his balls.

It had gone on long enough for the pillow under Derek's hips got soaked in pre-come.

Fucking him open in preparation.

Stiles spreads Derek's ass cheeks, leans down to blow air across Derek's hole. The sensation makes him shudder and wiggle restlessly.

"Impatient much?" Stiles murmurs, kneading Derek's ass cheeks roughly. "I want to enjoy your hole a little longer, babe, while it's still pretty and pink," he says. Derek feels Stiles' tongue flick the rim of his asshole, flattening the fur surrounding it.

Stiles' tongue punches through the relaxed muscle twisting and probing. The agile appendage licks at the walls of Derek's channel until the wolf is out of breath gnawing at the fabric in his mouth restlessly.

"Hope your walls are sound-proof, sweetheart or the neighbors are  _definitely_  going to complain," Stiles pants.

He's trying for casual, but Derek can feel his fingers tremble when they push into his body.

They go in easy, long, the dexterous fingers that effortlessly find Derek's prostate and give it a firm rub in greeting.

The pleasure doesn't last long, Stiles' fingers disappear just as Derek starts pushing back on them. He is bereft and embarrassed by how much he wants them to return, preferably with friends.

Both Stiles' thumbs push inside him, spread Derek's hole wide testing the stretch.

Derek's gut churns, his balls tingle and draw up.

The soaked through underpants are heavy on his tongue. He still tastes Stiles under all the saliva they have absorbed his sweat and skin from having been worn all day.

Three fingers push inside, press him open, Derek's muscles fight the stretch even as he relaxes into it.

He wants more, Derek reminds his body, they both want more.

"I love how you tighten up  _every time_ , no matter how much we stretch you out," Stiles purrs. He noisily sucks a bruise in the small of Derek's back, then saws his fingers into Derek's body twisting and pushing until it submits easing its grip on the appendages. "So, we can do this over and over again!"

Adding the pinky as he talks, Stiles robs Derek of breath.

He feels like something is about to tear.

The stretch is unbearable.

Derek groans from it, squeezing his eyes shut while trying to _breathe._

The soggy fabric that serves as a gag falls from his mouth unnoticed by either of them.

"Good boy," Stiles husks against the small of Derek's back, "you're doing so well, babe, you're going to feel awesome." He says sinking his teeth into the meat of Derek's ass for the hell of it.

Derek would almost think Stiles has Wendigo in his ancestry with his penchant for biting, or maybe vampires...

"We really should look into keeping you lose, Grumpy. Get a nice, big plug—something that brings out the pretty pink of your asshole. A silver one, one of those heavy metal things you won't be able to ignore."

Stiles keeps pushing while he talks. He takes his time, gaining a tenth of an inch after a tenth of an inch until there is nothing else for Derek but the stretch.

He hangs suspended on Stiles' big, blunt fingers; his universe narrowed down to the stretch and his boyfriend's words.

"We could do a road trip; there is this place where you can do a fitting and everything!" Stiles goes on. He slowly turns his hand, his knuckles catching on the rim of Derek's asshole.

The feeling makes Derek see stars, milky ways, galaxies spiraling out into the blackness of space stopping time and turning him deaf, dumb and blind to everything but the torturous stretch.

The emptiness that follows makes him sob into the pillow and brings tears to his eyes.

If Derek could talk, he'd demand the hand come back at once, but his tongue feels too thick and awkward to do more than moan pitifully.

"Easy there, babe, it's coming, I'm going to give your sexy hole exactly what it needs," Stiles says, rubbing the small of Derek's back.

Opening one eye, he watches Stiles lean off the bed to fish around under it.

The scrape of wood on wood makes him shiver, fear and excitement making staying still a challenge.

He can smell oil on wood, not the usual polish, can see a shine on its smooth surface.

"I polished it up real nice, just for you!" Stiles tells him, breathless and wide-eyed.

Stiles is flushed.

His lips are bitten raw.

His dick strains against his boxers.

His fingers lovingly pet the polished wood.

He is the hottest thing Derek has ever seen.

"Get your knees under you," he orders, his voice turning rough, "and raise your ass." The thick part of the bat trails along Derek's spine, letting him feel the weight of it— "and don't move!"

Stiles' leaves the bat on Derek's back, the grip balanced in the furrow of his ass.

Derek listens to Stiles move around making himself comfortable between his legs.

"Fuck," Stiles groans, his fingers dance over the rim of Derek's stretched hole, driving him back into a frenzy, "this is going to be sooo _good_!"

The bat drags along Derek's back.

It stops at the top of his ass for a breath or two, long enough for Derek to consider whining for Stiles to get on with it already.

Only when he's crazed with need does the bat follow the furrow between his cheeks down to press against the overworked muscle of Derek's asshole.

"Don't move, baby," Stiles reminds him.

There is no buildup, just the rounded edges of the cap spreading him wide, teasing and terrifying.

Stiles will not use it with only the lube already present. Even if Derek's body could take it, Stiles wouldn't, but the possibility of it is still there like a lead balloon in his gut. It makes his thighs tremble from the strain of keeping still, from not leaning away from what's about to come.

"Deep breath now," Stiles tells him sounding distracted.

The wet squish of lube extracted from the bottle makes him shudder. When the cold, wet substance is smeared on his hole, Derek smothers a groan in the pillow.

Globules of lube pushed into his body businesslike enough that it shouldn't be hot. Stiles wiping his fingers clean on Derek's furry ass cheeks even less so.

He's going to have a hell of a time cleaning all the lube off his body, Derek thinks a bit hysterically. The bat returns trailing along the backs of his thighs, lifting his balls and rolling them along the barrel.

The cap of the bat presses against Derek's hole once more catching on the rim of his ass. Turning slowly, the bat screws itself into his body until Derek can feel it spreading his hole, forcing it open—less than an inch in, and already Derek is sure it won't work, something is going to rip this time, his body won't be able to bear the strain.

"You're doing so good," Stiles says. He rakes his nails down Derek's back startling him out of his thoughts, "we might actually get to the fucking this time!" He adds. Working another inch of the barrel into Derek's protesting, clinging body, Stiles adds lube while babbling about bat maintenance, and how much he likes to play with Derek's hole.

The barrage of words turns into background noise.

To Derek, the drone of Stiles' voice as familiar as the human's heartbeat. It keeps him grounded breathing as best he can as the bat slides deeper pressing on his prostate.

It's too much, his nerves screaming, muscles protesting.

"Gonna need a new pillow, dude—again!" Stiles' voice crystallizes in his ears, the taste of cotton and cartilage registers next.

He's lost control, shifted without realizing and bitten through the pillow.

Some of the down floats up around his head, and Stiles' laughter rocks the bed.

The bat vibrates inside him, and thought is impossible.

It moves, in and out an inch in, an inch out almost teasing forcing Derek's body to open further.

For a while, Derek tries to fight it. He anticipates the movement and move, but Stiles knows him too well.

Stiles stops every time Derek tries anything until he gives in huffing angrily into the pillow and sending more down flying.

"Good boy!" Stiles whispers and twists the bat a little making Derek howl. "Show me how much you like getting fucked by a baseball bat."

He slaps Derek's ass, kneads the cheek roughly then pokes at Derek's overstretched hole and for a breath-robbing instant.

Derek  _knows_ Stiles is going to try something that's going to tear him apart at the seams.

"Stiles!" He pants into the wrecked pillow not sure if it's a warning or plea.

"Shhhhhh, just enjoy," Stiles tells Derek's ass. He sinks his teeth into the fleshy part of Derek's ass cheek, bites again and again until Derek is squirming, rocking back on Stiles' teeth and the bat.

The rigid wood presses inside him painfully, or beautifully. Derek isn't quite sure which.

"Please!" He moans into the remains of the pillow trembling in anticipation.

"You're so hot right now," Stiles praises stroking Derek's back, "so desperate." His hand cups Derek's tight balls lovingly. Stiles drags his nails along the swollen length of Derek's dick and flicks them against the wet tip.

Derek screams, jerking away from the sharp sensation taking the bat deeper.

"Had enough?" Stiles asks, maybe for the first time, maybe the fifth. He's gotten pretty good at figuring out when Derek is too lost in sensation to hear him.

Derek doesn't know.

Thinking is too hard,  _breathing_  is too hard, arching his back doesn't relieve the tension gathering in his belly. The only thing Derek accomplishes is sending the bat swaying churning in his gut.

Stiles' hand wraps around Derek's dick, cool and incandescent tightening and releasing  _milking_  him.

"Almost there, babe," Stiles encourages, "fuck my hand, show me what a big slut you are for my bat." He nips at Derek's ear and the back of his neck in encouragement.

Derek can't help but obey.

He fucks Stiles' hand with short, half-aborted thrusts of his hips trying not to move too much and get as much sensation as possible at the same time.

The bed frame screams twisting under his hands.

Stiles' voice is in his ears, but the words are incomprehensible. His ass actually hurts from the continued stretch...

The stretch disappears unexpectedly.

The loss of pressure leaves Derek howling into the remains of the pillow, fucking Stiles' fist to get away from the emptiness.

Only it's not enough he needs  _more_ , is sobbing for it, uncaring who hears his begging as long as he gets what he needs.

It takes him some time to realize Stiles has mounted him, that Stiles fucks his too loose hole for all his worth, jackrabbits into him despite Derek's asshole being too loose for him to feel it.

Stiles is rubbing off against his insides, mumbling under his breath about shoving in balls and all, about having to plug Derek up, so he doesn't make a mess of the bed.

Humiliation flares in his gut hot and heavy, and perversely the thing he needs to help him over the edge.

Derek collapses while his dick is still twitching. He whimpers as his sensitive flesh dragging along rough cotton wet with come and sweat. Feathers stick to his face and chest annoyingly, but he doesn't have the strength to wipe them away.

Stiles is still humping his ass, cursing and clawing at Derek's ass cheeks. He's heavy on Derek's back running his mouth as he chases release, telling Derek he's hot and a perv and that Stiles loves him more than curly fries.

Stiles comes with a tortured groan, striping Derek's ass with his come and dropping next to him, almost falling off the bed.

Despite the physical discomfort, Derek feels—at peace.

"Five minutes," Stiles groans against his shoulder, curling into Derek's side, running his hands across his sweaty back.

Five minutes turn into ten, possibly more. Derek dozes barely noticing Stiles rolling off the bed with a dramatic groan and shuffles off to somewhere.

Something wet landing on his back startles Derek from his doze.

He tries to grumble but gets a mouth full of feathers.

"Roll over! I'm not even trying to move your furry ass," Stiles says. He wipes Derek's face carefully, plucking off the feathers, "not gonna lie to you. It will still be disgusting, but at least I'll be able to get rid of the feathers because you look like you slaughtered a chicken—with your teeth." He wants to retort, maybe threaten Stiles, not that it ever works, but that would take too much effort. So, he settles for glaring until his ass comes into contact with the bed.

Something feels off.

The shape of him is wrong.

He savors the sensation while watching Stiles dump the remains of the pillow and feathers on the floor and covering the rest of the mess with thick towels.

Derek's mind drifts. His thoughts settle on wanting to see how wrecked his ass is. He hurts his asshole twinges with even the slightest movement throbs with every breath.

Reaching back, he groans at the feel of his ruined asshole. It's still open and swollen, inflamed, hot to the touch even for a werewolf. Derek wonders if it's red or pink and how long the gape will last if it will still be there when he wakes up in the morning.

"Want a picture?" Stiles asks. He tangles his fingers with Derek's so they can explore the mess they made together. He's warm and solid against Derek's side, yielding when Derek curls around him as best he can.

Grumbling with indecision, Derek slowly becoming aware of more than the bed.

Rummaging in the bedside table, Stiles comes up with a bottle of water for them to share while they get comfortable among the mess.

Derek falls back asleep with his head in his mate's lap.


End file.
